


Always The Stars

by satismagic



Series: European Vacations [2]
Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Berlin - Freeform, Instagram, M/M, Twitter, sneakers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 21:43:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satismagic/pseuds/satismagic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zach's hero's journey in Berlin, April 2014. Expressionism, introspection, an exhibition, and sneakers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always The Stars

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Lies, lies, and nothing but lies. Also, at the time of writing, science fiction, as the story takes place in April 2014.  
>  **Thank you:** Big thanks to Aranel for another super-quick, insightful beta.  
>  **Dedication:** For jouissant, who wrote a very different (and much better) Berlin story.

Zach had been determined to enjoy his mid-life crisis once it arrived. To live it _deliberately_. To experience it as the important stage of personal development it was. A rite of passage that was necessary to grow, to become more authentic, to reconcile light and shadow within the self.

However, he had not expected the condition to strike while he was on an art vacation in Berlin with his current SO. When he was supposed to _enjoy_ himself (and his lover). He had also not anticipated that his midlife-crisis would manifest in caveman-like fits of jealousy toward the female form on canvas. But that was what Miles was currently obsessed with. _“Feminine Transformations: Expressions and Expressionism”._ Or in other words, an art class with various models of the female persuasion, conducted in one of the world’s premier museums for classic expressionist art, namely _The Brücke_ museum in Berlin.

Today there were two models – a Lesbian couple; one fat, one thin, both with an incredible physical presence, an admittedly intriguing study in contrasts. Leonard would have loved them. Miles _adored_ them. Of course. And Zach, who should be pleased that he had managed to persuade his lover to travel with him to one of his favorite cities at very short notice, was bored, cold, and lonely. Because Miles had to _concentrate_. He had shooed Zach away, telling him to go already and enjoy the city and meet up with him and “the Europeans” for dinner.

_Europeans_ , Zach decided, _are like a sect. They lure you in with culture and language, and then they never let you go. At least they have good wine._

But he scowled, crowded in by culture, framed and on canvas. _If those paintings were at least pretty,_ he thought pettily. He circled the floors, running the gauntlet between jagged black triangles of tired breasts and heavy-lidded, vacant-eyed stares of prophetic despair. _As if they saw what was coming,_ he mused. _The wars and the horrors ..._ _As if they have seen_ everything. _Or at least everything in terms of the human condition ..._ They probably had at that, hanging around in a museum for around one hundred years. Including a nearly forty-year-old actor pathetically pining— _I’m not **pining**_ , he told himself. He frowned at a portrait of a clown. _I wonder what Chris is up to these days ..._

And that was the moment when Zach decided it was high time to follow Miles’s orders, to leave and do his own thing and join “die Künstler” for an incredibly aesthetic dinner and/or extremely artsy drinks in whatever unlikely elitist location they ended up tonight.

With the help of his trusty iPhone, Zach managed to locate the U3, Podbielskiallee. One thing he liked about spontaneous trips like this one was the lack of paparazzi and celeb spotters. Because no one expected him to take the U3 to Nollendorfplatz on a Wednesday afternoon in April 2014, no one spared him a second glance.

Twenty minutes later, Zach was walking along the Kurfürstenstraße until he had to cross the road and turn left at the church of the twelve apostles. Dutifully he clicked a pic of the church, applied Sutro because he was feeling the Gothic today, added _“so red, such brick, oh crack”_ and posted, wondering how long it would take the internet to figure out where the hell he was right now.

The park of the Magdeburger Platz ended up distracting him for another twenty minutes – the Gründerzeit architecture and the vibrant green of spring, yeah, nice, that. Not so nice to have to enjoy it alone, though. Especially since he knew he’d end up spending rather more than less time alone in the months to come. Miles wanted to focus on his art again. And of course Zach supported that endeavour. That was what life was all about, after all. To find out what you’re capable of, and to go for it. But he could feel a distance growing between them that hadn’t been there just a few months ago. As if Miles was a meteor or a comet or something, only passing him by to flash ever brighter in a darkening sky. Few people stayed around him, in orbit, instead of taking off for the stars. Family, of course, old friends. And Chris—

Zach stopped walking, feeling a frown coming on. He hadn’t spoken to Chris since a brief call to say Happy New Year. Why was he reminded of him now? And already the second time in one day, too. Well, this was Berlin. He couldn’t think of Berlin and _not_ think of Chris. Also, pompous similes. He’d been remixing astronomy and relationships in his mind. So _of course_ he was thinking of Chris. The puzzle pieces put together like that, he felt more at ease again. And it wasn’t just Chris, right? No, the whole Trek cast formed fixed-points in his life. Well, at least for one more trip to the stars; filming for anniversary movie – last movie they were all contracted for – would start early in 2015.

Somewhat satisfied with that explanation for his trains of thought, Zach continued on to the Gay Museum of Berlin that a friend had recommended to him. _Inspiring_ , she’d told him. _Intimate. There’s an exhibit coming up about archetypes and Jung and the hero’s journey. Just your kind of thing._

He paid the six Euro entrance fee without a word. The red-haired, lanky guy at the desk – Kurt, his name tag said – stared at him for a long moment. Zach feared that he’d been recognized. But Kurt shook his head, obviously telling himself that he was hallucinating gay celebs. And although it was sort of douchey, Zach kept silent. He wasn’t in the mood for small talk. Or giving autographs. Also, he was on vacation. So.

Zach entered the exhibition and froze. He was staring at himself. Or was he?

His heartbeat quickened, and he needed a moment to figure out what was going on. Then he realized that he was standing behind some kind of panel and in front of a mirror. His body and face were half-way obscured by an acrylic board painted like a historical harlequin. Clever illumination cast a wavering shadow behind him that seemed to lean over his shoulder.

A sign in German and in English read: “Dies ist dein Ruf zum Abenteuer. _This is your call to adventure._ Bist du bereit, dich neu zu entdecken? _Are you ready to discover yourself anew?”_

Zach swallowed. Okay, that was unexpected. The visitor as part of the exhibition. He inhaled and walked around the figure. His shadow followed him. For a moment, he was tempted to analyze the light effects. But in the end he decided against it. To deconstruct the technology seemed counterproductive when the goal was the adventure of self-discovery.

Next came the refusal of the call. This time, there were two half-figures to step behind, a woman and a man in bondage. Leather and chains wrapped around naked skin, leaving painful red marks, scars even. Beads of sweat stood out on pale skin, veins were visible on exposed genitals. The resulting reflection was just a little too realistic, and he stepped away quickly.

Standing next to the tied-up couple, he looked at the sign: “Welche Ketten wählst du, um dich zu fesseln? _Which chains have you chosen to imprison yourself?_ Welche Ausrede hat Narben in deiner Seele hinterlassen? _Which excuse has scarred your soul?_ ”

Zach didn’t want to think of Chris. _It’s better this way,_ he told himself, like a thousand times before. _Safer._ He hurried to the next panel. The mentor, styled as the archetype of the magician. Zach imagined Leonard Nimoy as his magical guardian, and felt inexplicably comforted. Nevertheless, a certain uneasiness remained.

He progressed across the first threshold. Thankfully, there were only few visitors, and they were far enough ahead of him that he could immerse himself into the exhibition without having to worry about being recognized. The next stages of the hero’s journey were easier to experience, not as shocking and confronting. The topics of tests, allies, and enemies outlined historical, psychological, social, and political challenges in a life of embracing queer identity. Zach relaxed. This was something he could get into, intellectually, and it was interesting, too – the differences and similarities between American and European culture.

The approach to the “Innermost Cave” messed up his zen again. Another two-figure panel put a companion for the most dangerous part of the journey at his side. The accompanying sign invited him to imagine his soulmate. The arrangement of mirrors and spotlights created effects like lense flares, and of course that was the only damn reason why he thought of Chris again before he hurriedly stepped through a velvet curtain into a dark room.

_The ordeal._

Zach knew the progress of the hero’s journey, of course. Every drama or English major everywhere read Campbell and Vogler at some point. The hero had to die, to witness death, or to cause death, and to face his Shadow.

Inside, the room was nearly black. Only a bench at the center was subtly illuminated. Just enough for visitors not to stumble over it and break their necks on their way. He followed the implied invitation and sat down. Somewhere behind him, he heard female voices, giggling hysterically. The new visitors had probably reached the refusal of the call, BDSM-style.

A long minute passed in silent darkness. Then music started playing – he recognized the piece as “Danse Macabre” by Saint-Saens. In front of him, a mirror lit up. His reflection was very white, almost ghost-like. Zach was tempted to pull out his iPhone to take a selfie. But he resisted the siren call of social media. Instead, he focused on the installation, intrigued. How would they go about to create the face-off with death and the Shadow?

Death, it turned out, was a projection of a skull superimposed over his reflection. Just blurry enough to create a very realistic illusion of bones shining through his skin. A shiver ran down his back, and a heavy, cold sensation settled in the pit of his stomach. When the skull vanished, only Zach remained: a pale, lonely face in the mirror, his eyes huge and too black. No explanation, no elucidation was forthcoming. An irrational feeling of anger flooded him. What a douchey way to make a point. _Your ordeal is your own? Or what?_ He stayed where he was and stared at himself, waiting. _For what_ , he wondered. A random line floated in his mind: _“Is this all that I am? Is there nothing more?”_

Suddenly, the mirror darkened. His reflection faded away, and stars appeared, the universe around him and inside him, leading him to the exit. Of course. Always the stars. _Damn._

If he imagined Chris again in the artsy orgy staged to celebrate the hero’s rebirth (the sexual aspects of this scene were at least somewhat ameliorated by psychobabble about connectivity and community), then only the stars were to blame. A perfectly _logical_ connection. Nothing to worry about.

He walked around a corner and promptly froze in his tracks, staring at the last panel of the exhibit.

_Magic boots as the hero’s reward._

An allusion to fairy tales and archetypes, and a suitable symbol for the on-going journey of the visitors in their lives. Right.

But of course they were not some cool Aragorn-style leather boots or at least a non-descript sort of shiny black Starfleet regulation footwear. Oh no. The magic boots visitors had to step behind in front of the last mirror absolutely had to be oversized, post-modern, rainbow hipster sneakers.

_Fuck it,_ Zach thought and pulled out his iPhone.

He tweeted the reflection of the magic sneakers, dramatically overlaid with a fancy, star-spangled filter. A picture was worth a thousand words, or at least one-hundred forty characters. For good measure, he sent the picture to Chris, too, although he didn’t really know what he was trying to say with it.

**Author's Note:**

> • There is a “Brücke” museum in Berlin. No idea if they offer in-museum art classes. Some museums do, though.  
> • Miles does paint (I read an old interview in which he talks about his art), but his interest in expressionist nudes is (probably) just my imagination.  
> • There is a Gay Museum in Berlin, and how Zach gets there is mostly correct. The exhibition, however, exists only in my imagination. (Though I think it would be cool.)  
> • The random line is from Star Trek, Spock’s reflection on V’ger.


End file.
